My angel
by CatherineWinner
Summary: What if Michael's break down in season one had been real? Spoilers for s2...implied misa


Don't own prison break-Also I'm looking for a beta reader. While I adore my current one I plan to do some angst in the future and she doesn't care for that sort. So if anyone knows someone who might be instersted plz let me know! thx so much! Enjoy!!

It was part of the plan. He needed to be there for the plan. He had suffered more in the last few weeks. He could handle this. Or so he told himself.

His courage didn't stop the darkness. The moment those doors closed Michael felt himself slipping back into a place he never wanted to go again. A place so dark, so evil it haunted him to this day. He could hear his brother whispered urgently to him. Words to get him to focus on him. Words to help him through.

Words were meaningless.

Michael laid on the cold pavement for the first few hours. He listened to his brother's voice and did his best to think only of the plan.

Then a door slammed and Michael flinched. The guards were transporting a prisoner. Their movements and crude jokes could be heard by prisoners, but Michael Scofield. At their loud footsteps he heard his approaching doom-at their crude jokes he heard the curses of another beating.

His brother's voice was gone, and he suddenly wasn't in that cell. He was back in that room-that room that smelled like mold and urine. That room that surrounded him in constant pain. Michael forced himself to stand, words that he didn't remember hearing ran through his mind.

"Never let them see you cry."

So he stood, the door opened and he prepared to fight his battle. He blinked-the door never opened, that man never came in. But the darkness was still consuming him.

Michael pried himself off the floor, gasping for air, begging for it to be clean.

He needed something to fight the darkness off-he needed…air, light, water, Lincoln-Sara.

Michael punched the wall. He needed pain. Pain would get him Sara. Sara would save him. His fist connected with the wall a second time, he heard a crack but kept going.

Sara. It became his silent chant. She was his salvation. He could feel the blood seeping out of his knuckles. It wasn't enough, he was still in the dark, he could still hear that man's endless footsteps. Never quite reaching the door but never leaving. It was driving him insane. He smirked. Why was that funny?

Suddenly he dropped to the floor. He remembered what he had forgotten. He needed something to write with. He remembered the missing link in the maze.

He shot to his feet. He cupped his left hand allowing the blood to pool then used his pointer finger to dip and began drawing. He drew lines that lead no where, he drew pipes that he knew. He didn't know where they went or why they matter, in that moment they were leading him out of hell. Seconds became minutes and minutes became hours.  
Michael dropped into a squat. He could hear footsteps. He flinched, there were more then one set of shoes…Sara.

The room was flooded with light, Michael sighed inwardly. Sara had brought the light.

She stepped into the room and the light faded dimly. The light was never completely gone when she was with him.

She was whispering to him. Telling him something in her gentle voice. He wanted to speak; he wanted to-god he didn't know what he wanted. Her hand grasped around his wrist, and Michael released what he wanted. He allowed himself to lean down slowly into her embrace. He continued to breath through his nose as his head found it's place on her thigh. Suddenly the smell of mold was gone. She had a light perfume-or maybe it was just her shampoo. It didn't matter. The mold was gone.

Michael blinked as Sara patted his back awkwardly. Or at lest it should have been awkward. Instead it felt like the most natural thing ever.

Michael gathered his thoughts. He was following the plan. She would have no choice but to send him to the psych-ward…. Michael stopped. It had been years since his last break down. Years since he lost himself in that place.

"It's going to be ok. You're going to be ok." She whispered.

Michael pressed himself deeper into her hold; he had been following the plan. But it seemed both his conscious and subconscious had the same goal.

Sara.

In either worlds she was his salvation-his freedom-his angel.


End file.
